


Feedback Loop

by Skitz_phenom



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Domestic, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-25
Updated: 2011-09-25
Packaged: 2017-10-24 00:58:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/257074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skitz_phenom/pseuds/Skitz_phenom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This was written as a <a href="http://mcshep-match.livejournal.com/">McShep-Match</a> 'prize' fic for one of the comment contest winners (congrats runpunkrun!). Future-fic. Established relationship.  Unabashed fluff. John and Rodney and the merits of constructive criticism.  Oh, and a special guest.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Feedback Loop

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as a [McShep-Match](http://mcshep-match.livejournal.com/) 'prize' fic for one of the comment contest winners (congrats runpunkrun!). Future-fic. Established relationship. Unabashed fluff. John and Rodney and the merits of constructive criticism. Oh, and a special guest.

Leaning against the railing of a balcony on one of Atlantis’s central spires, elbows propped on the cool metal, John stared up at the night sky. One of New Lantea’s moons – the larger of the two, now waning gibbous - was at its perigee and half-obscured behind sluggish cloud cover, while the other had sunk beyond the watery horizon some time ago. The air was comfortably cool; with just a hint of real chill threaded through the night mistrals that whisked by.

“Enjoying the view?”

John smiled at the voice, but didn’t turn. He knew he was dreaming then. He offered a quiet but sincere, “Yeah,” in response.

He could feel the warmth of her as she moved to stand next to him against the railing and in the furthest of his periphery he could just glimpse the edge of her profile; a shadowy fall of dark hair, the smudged curl of eyelashes, and the pale curves of chin and brow and point of a nose, all limned and silvered by moonlight.

“How are you, John?” she asked in that oddly knowing, and maternal way she had.

John didn’t even try for taciturn or noncommittal. This was a dream and beyond that, he owed it to her to be open and honest. So he smiled, wider and freer than his usual wry smirk. “I’m great, Elizabeth,” he told her. “Really great.”

He could feel her answering smile like sunlight against his skin.

“How’re you?” He always asked. Sometimes he got an answer.

“Happy, John.” And her voice certainly did sound like it was suffused with joy. “That’s new,” she added after a moment of companionable sky-gazing. A glint of moonlight reflected rather pointedly off the simple platinum band on his left ring-finger.

John felt his cheeks go warm and he ducked his head, unable to keep the smile from growing a little bit goofy. “Yeah. Just a few months ago.” He looked back up to the sky and the moon. “We’ve been talking about it for so long, but with everything going kind of crazy after the Stargate program was declassified and then Rodney’s Nobel, we never really found the time to make it official, yanno?”

He heard a hum of agreement, and not for the first time wondered just how much she knew of what happened in his life. “You’d have liked the ceremony,” he went on. “Gateroom. Woolsey officiated. Of course there was an emergency incoming wormhole in the middle of the vows, so we had to dodge out of the way of the event horizon.” He laughed, open and loud and her accompanying chuckle was bright and musical. “So, it was pretty much perfect for us. And naturally, we had to follow that up with a big party here on Earth. Food, friends, the whole she-bang.”

“Giant chocolate cake?” she asked with a laugh.

“Crazy-big,” he confirmed, his eyes wrinkled in amusement and affection.

She was silent a few more minutes, but John felt her approval and pleasure just as sure as if she spoke them aloud. “I’m so happy for you both, John.”

It started to rain then: a light and oddly warm drizzle that quickly grew into a hearty shower. John tilted his head up and laughed into it and beside him he could hear the presence that was Elizabeth do the same. He closed his eyes, felt the water on his face and knew she was leaving. She didn’t say goodbye, but then she didn’t need to. He stood like that a while longer, until the sensation of her being there had dispersed entirely, and then told himself to wake up.

The soft susurrus of rainfall resolved itself into the real-world sound of a faint, rapid-fire staccato that John was wholly familiar with: fingers flying fast and furious on a keyboard, muffled by a closed door and the distance of a hallway. He could tell that Rodney had tried to be considerate and not wake him when he left their bed. The bedcovers were hardly disturbed on his side – just flipped over at the top corner – and the bedroom door was pulled almost shut – not wholly closed because the knob needed to be oiled and sometimes it would squeal when turned – to keep out the light. He reached out a hand and slid it over to Rodney’s empty spot: still body-warm. Rodney hadn’t been too long gone.

John debated getting up to drag Rodney back to bed. He was quite used to these late night excursions and knew that sometimes the other man could be quite stubborn when he’d had some drowsy epiphany and needed to capture it immediately. He decided to give Rodney a few minutes. If it was some new theory or idea he’d be back soon enough, once he’d gotten the gist of it recorded for later perusal and expansion.

Rolling over onto his side into Rodney’s space, John shifted his head onto Rodney’s pillow and thought about the dream he’d woken from. It was quite familiar; he’d call it recurring even, though each one was a bit different. He’d find himself in some part of Atlantis, alone and contemplative, and she’d show up that same, quiet way, and they’d talk. It was rarely about anything too specific; mostly just idle chit-chat or even just companionable silence. He could never quite look her straight on though; when he tried she’d vanish like dissipating smoke from a banked fire. But he didn’t need to see her to have those brief, obscure little conversations, and just the way he could feel her presence was enough.

He’d told Rodney about the dreams he sometimes had; had been having for years now. Rodney had once suggested that perhaps she’d found a way to free her consciousness from the physical bonds of her replicator body and discovered how to achieve ascension. John privately agreed, though in the dreams he never asked if that’s what had happened, or if she was really there. He just took them for what they were. A little bit of comfort and reassurance and friendship when he needed them.

John listened a bit longer to the sound of rapid-fire typing and didn’t hear any signs of it slowing. If this were just a quick need to capture an elusive thought before it fled, he knew that the steady tapping would’ve tapered off into shorter and more fragmented clicks and clacks as Rodney read over his notes, made sure he caught the essentials and then came back to bed. That he was still going strong meant that Rodney’s mind was caught up in something else, and John would have to practically drag him bodily to get him to walk away from it. With a groan at leaving the cocooned warmth of their bed behind, John slipped out and padded down the short hallway.

John paused when he reached the study, leaning against the doorframe and watching Rodney for a few minutes. He liked this room. It was all gleaming, high-polished woods, dark but comfortable furniture, a field-stone bordered fireplace with a raw slab of curly redwood for a mantel, and day or night the view out the large bay window that overlooked the ocean was spectacular. It had definitely been one of the selling points when they’d decided to buy the vacation house.

He especially liked Rodney in it. He was seated at a mammoth antique desk (though the chair was faux-antique and ergonomic), bare-chested and dressed only in pajama bottoms. His fingers were a blur over the keyboard and his eyes were narrowed – either he was squinting (and John would have to try to have the glasses conversation with him again) or he was glaring at whatever was on the screen (which John wouldn’t put past him in the least). John had spent quite an inordinate amount of time watching Rodney in that very same spot while under the guise of sitting in the ridiculously comfortable leather recliner next to the fireplace, ostensibly reading.

But, this late at night his appreciation only went so far. “Rodney,” he called out, “come back to bed. Whatever it is you’re working, I’m sure it can wait. Vacation, remember?”

“In a minute,” was the rather distracted (and pretty much expected) rejoinder to that suggestion.

John headed further into the room and moved to stand behind Rodney’s chair. “What’cha working on? ‘nother brilliant, Nobel-winning theory?”

Rodney snorted. “Hardly. I’m leaving vitriolic comments on absurd scientific journal articles.” His fingers stilled for a moment and John could see a rather self-satisfied grin in Rodney’s reflection in the large, flat-screen monitor. “You know, as much as I still enjoy reading hard-copy journals, there’s a benefit to almost everything being published digitally these days. It’s much more convenient to be able to comment, and by comment I mean shred and destroy,” he qualified, the grin turning rather vicious, “when I don’t have to make notes in the margins and then submit my critique to the editors.”

John resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Only Rodney would wake up at – he glanced at the mantel clock over the fireplace – half past three a.m. with the urge to lambast fellow scientists in his field. Granted, Rodney was usually dead-on in his criticism (John had read a few of pieces that had been published early after declassification and even _he_ had felt the urge to take a red pen and correct all the glaring inaccuracies) and John figured that a few of them might even get a kick out of being knocked down a few pegs by a Nobel prize-winning, planet-saving, wormhole-travelling celebrity; but still, it was the principle of the thing. John was tired and he didn’t like sleeping alone. He’d done that for too many years. He refused to do it anymore if he didn’t have too.

“Can’t the constructive criticism wait?” he asked, rather plaintively. Plus, if he didn’t get Rodney to bed soon, he’d likely be up all night and then end up cranky and tired in the morning. John had plans for tomorrow (taking Teyla and Ronon and their respective families to the zoo) that wouldn’t be made any better with a crankier than usual Rodney.

“I’ve got at least fifteen more articles that I need to comment on. Granted, several of these were published prior to full declassification of the program and some of these idiots didn’t have access to complete data about the gate or wormhole travel, but these theories and some of this math are just so beyond ridiculous. I can’t believe how far the field of astrophysics has fallen,” he concluded glumly.

“Rodney, I’m sure the field of astrophysics will survive the night if you come to bed before you finish.”

“We’re only on Earth for two more weeks, John. I’m never going to get caught up on my lambasting if you keep dragging me back to bed every time that I get into a rhythm. The feedback and criticism I provide could have long-lasting beneficial effects," he sneered, "particularly if it convinces some of these hacks to quit working in any kind of scientific field and to take up gardening or macramé.”

John curled his hands over Rodney’s broad, firm shoulders and pulled Rodney back to rest against his stomach. Rodney’s hair, thinner and greying at the temples, tickled pleasantly and John let his hands slide down over Rodney’s chest. “C’mon, Rodney. The articles can wait.” He felt Rodney try to lean away from him, as if the pull of the keyboard was magnetic and some ferrous metal flowed through his veins. John pushed on, knowing he was close to winning this one. “They’ve been in print, metaphorically speaking, for weeks and months now. I’m sure a few more days won’t matter.”

“But…” Rodney didn’t have anything to add to that plaintive protest, though his fingers twitched once again towards the keys.

John dropped his head, bringing his mouth close to Rodney’s ear, and pitched his voice in a tone he knew made Rodney’s knees weak. “If you really feel the need to critique something right now, how ‘bout you come back to bed and you can provide all the feedback you want on my ability to wear you out in clever and creative ways.”

Rodney pushed away from the desk with a scramble and an eager, “Okay!” and John crowed, albeit silently, in triumph. Offers of sex were a sure-fire way to get Rodney to abandon these odd little late-night compulsions that occasionally grabbed hold of him. Sometimes, if John was just too exhausted, he wouldn’t play that card, but most of the time – sleepy or not – it wasn’t a hardship for him. He half suspected Rodney subconsciously let himself get caught up in such odd and frivolous things just because he knew where it would lead. Not that he was complaining.

He tugged Rodney back to their bedroom and pushed him down onto the bed and followed him in, opting to climb over him, rather than give him the opportunity to escape if he walked around to his own side. Rodney didn’t seemed to mind. John divested them both of pajamas pants and boxers and curled himself up behind Rodney. He fitted his knees and thighs against the back of Rodney’s and pulled Rodney’s back firmly against his chest so he could wrap both arms around him and go back to trailing his hands over Rodney’s chest and the soft curve of his belly.

“You had another Elizabeth dream, didn’t you?” Rodney phrased it as a question, though a rhetorical one, from the surety of his tone.

“How’d you know?” John asked, squeezing just a bit tighter.

“You always get kind of clingy after you have one of those.” When John started to loosen his grip, Rodney grabbed on and pulled his arms tight again. “Not that I’m complaining, mind. Just, I can tell.” He shimmied in John’s embrace, wriggling as he turned enough to be able to see John’s face. “How was she?”

John smiled softly. “The same. All ephemeral and ‘I’m here, but I’m not here’ and stuff.” Rodney snorted. He’d once told John to tell the Elizabeth in his dreams that the whole mystic-visitation thing was all well and good, but she’d really be better served by just showing up to breakfast with the two of them sometime. “But she was happy,” John added. “For us, especially, I think.” He pressed his mouth against the point of Rodney’s shoulder, kissing and talking into it at the same time. “Kinda got the feeling she was thinking ‘it’s about damn time,’ though she didn’t come out and say it.”

“Well,” Rodney said agreeably, “it was about damn time. You strung me along for far too long.”

"Who strung _who_ along?" John countered, and Rodney had the good grace to flush. "Yeah, that's what I thought. Mr. 'Marriage is an outmoded institution and beneath us'."

Rodney waved that away. "Oh you knew I just didn't feel worthy of you without the Nobel in my hands. Had to prove I was the best match for 'Colonel John Sheppard, savior of galaxies, breaker of hearts and hero to little children everywhere'." He'd managed to slide an arm free and gave the whole thing truly sarcastic, if one-handed, air-quotes. He eyed John critically. "You know, you just don't live up to the hype."

John lifted his mouth off Rodney's shoulder long enough to scoff noisily. "Yeah, well. You _know_ I agree with you about that. I could've done with quite a bit less hype." He stopped himself. That was a topic for when he felt like griping just to gripe. "Anyway, I just think that Elizabeth was stopping by to give us her own constructive criticism. To say that she was happy with the way things turned out, though not in so many words." He pressed his lips against Rodney's shoulder again.

Rodney rolled further, giving John’s mouth access to all kinds of interesting things. “And speaking of constructive feedback, as much as I enjoy exploring your psyche and discussing our overlong period engagement, I believe there were promises of tiring me out?” His voice and eyebrows both rose hopefully.

John huffed a laugh against Rodney’s skin as he worked his hands down Rodney’s body and was rewarded with a gasp. “How’m I doing?” he asked breathily after a particularly clever move with the pad of one thumb.

“Uhhhhh, great… terrific,” Rodney managed to sputter amidst some appreciative groaning. “A truly…ahhh… inspired performance.”

Caught between affectionate laughter and some appreciative noises of his own – Rodney was doing his best to rub as much of his body against particular parts of John’s as he could manage despite his focus elsewhere - John continued working very hard to give Rodney something worthwhile to comment on.


End file.
